


Brain Scan

by sick_boy



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Age Play, Baby bottle, Brain Scan, Claustrophobia, Cuddling & Snuggling, Daddy Kink, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, In a way, Infantilism, M/M, MRI, Medical Procedures, Medicinal Drug Use, Oliver Twist - Freeform, Reading, Reading Aloud, Sedation, Thumb-sucking, White Coat Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-01 08:18:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sick_boy/pseuds/sick_boy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little Will is scared to get a brain scan.  How will he ever get through it?  With the help of his daddy, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Noooo, Daddy, I’m scared!” Will whined, dropping his spoon in his pumpkin apple soup and tightened his arms around himself, fingers curled in his light blue henley. It was lunchtime, and Hannibal and his boy had been enjoying the meal of their labour, a spinach, cranberry, pecan, and feta salad and the complimentary creamy soup.

Hannibal sighed, knowing his boy would react like this. He had hoped the meal would have softened the blow. He lowered his own spoon, careful not to splatter any soup on his brown plaid suit. “This is why I waited to tell you, William. I didn’t want you to worry for days beforehand. It’s a simple brain scan, people have them all the time-”

But Will was already keen on excuses. “I can’t go, Daddy, not today, not ever! Doctors are mean,” Will’s breathing sped up as he hastened to explain himself. “They’re gonna hurt me, and then they’re gonna put in a big, scary machine and call me crazy and put me in that hospital we always drive by, and then, and then I’ll never see you again!” Pressure pulsed at the base of his skull as his throat tightened. He had been to see a lot of doctors in his life, and they had all destroyed the trust that they usually are known for.

“Now why on Earth would they do that, my boy?” Hannibal asked. “Besides, I’m a doctor, William. Would you say I’ve hurt you?” Hannibal’s eyebrows raised minutely.

Will was quick to answer. “No, Daddy, never, but every other doctor, they’re gonna- they’re gonna-” The boy was hyperventilating now.

“Alright,” Hannibal soothed him, getting out of his chair at the head of the table and embracing his frightened little boy in his arms.

“You- you think I’m crazy, don’t you, Daddy?” His voice was thick and strained. Tears leaked out of his eyes. “That’s why you want me to go, isn’t it? Because I’m crazy?”

“No, Will, Daddy doesn’t use that word- Will,” he said, inciting his boy to look him in the eye. “I don’t think you’re crazy. You’re just sick, alright, sweetheart? We need to figure out what’s wrong so we can make you better, so your headaches and nightmares can go away. Your intermittent fever, too. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Will’s large eyes glistened with tears as he nodded. His voice was almost a whisper. “It’s gonna hurt.”  
 Hannibal shook his head patiently. “No it won’t, little one. You lay on a table, it slides you into the machine, you sit still for a few minutes while the machine takes pictures of your brain, and it will be all over.”

The boy still wasn’t convinced and sat nervously staring at the other side of the room, worrying his lower lip with his teeth.

“Ahh-ahh,” Hannibal chided. “No reverting to bad habits.” He studied his boy’s hunched posture. “You know Daddy wouldn’t insist unless it was important.”

The boy’s bright blue eyes met his father’s sharp amber gaze. He asked in a small voice, “Do I have to?”

Hannibal gave him a conciliatory smile. “Yes, you do. We have about an hour until we leave. Why don’t I read to you in the meantime?”

He wanted to put on a good face for his daddy, to show him he wasn’t angry that he was doing the right thing. He was just scared. Will smiled sadly, his underlying anxiety present. “Okay daddy.”

“How about you pick out what story you want while I clean up here?”

Will nodded and headed to the study, where old books in dark wood shelves adorned the room like wallpaper. There were books in other languages, books with gold on the edge of the page, the same book in several editions. Myths, collections of poetry and research essays, manuals, and diagrams. Most of their pages were yellowed, a musty smell lingering in the room, but it wasn’t unpleasant. It made Will think he was journeying back in time whenever he entered the room.

The boy knew which story he wanted the second his daddy had suggested reading to him. It was a green hardcover book with gold covering the edges and a red ribbon for a place keeper. “Oliver Twist” the cracked spine read in matching gold ink, “Charles Dickens” under a fancy swirl.

While waiting for his daddy, Will sat on the antique velvet couch and flipped the pages mindlessly, wondering what a brain scan would be like other than scary. He pictured cold men in white coats and gloves poking and prodding his brain like he was a salisbury steak they couldn’t wait to dig into. Good thing his daddy wasn’t like that... His daddy was a different kind of doctor, one that didn’t check his patients’ weight or give them shots. His daddy healed minds from the inside out.

But his daddy couldn’t fix Will because Will was broken beyond repair. Even when he was much smaller than he was now, he had always known that there was something wrong with him. It made him wary of doctors, who he had seen on TV drag mental patients away, never again to see the light of day, and especially afraid of head doctors. But it wasn’t up to him anymore; his daddy said they would go, and little boys have no choice in these matters.

His daddy entered the room with a baby bottle of milk in hand, and after starting a fire in the fireplace, sat down beside Will and took the boy on his lap. Due to his adult size, Hannibal sat his boy in between his legs, so Will’s upper half could lean on his daddy and his navy pajama-clad legs could bend down the rest of the couch.

Will settled his head in the crook of his daddy’s neck, curling up in the warmth and security of his father’s lap.

“I see you picked out Oliver Twist, your favourite,” said Hannibal fondly, kissing his boy’s messy hair. He replaced the book in Will’s grasp with the bottle of milk. It was warm in his hands, and it made him give a smile in return.

“Thank you, Daddy,” Will said genuinely. A warm drink never failed to soothe him.

“You’re quite welcome, sweetheart. Now, where did we leave off?”

Will showed him where the ribbon kept their place, and he began reading. Hannibal’s accent metered a comfortable, predictable rhythm, his voice lowering at the end of every sentence. Will’s loved when his daddy reenacted the voices of the different characters, the low rumble of the older men vibrating through his daddy’s chest.

He read for a while as Will sucked on the nipple of the milk bottle, enjoying the vanilla flavour daddy added to the milk. The crackling fire was a constant, pleasant background noise. 

Ten minutes into reading came one of Will’s favourite parts.

_“‘My dear child,’ said the old gentleman, moved by the warmth of Oliver's sudden appeal, 'you need not be afraid of my deserting you, unless you give me cause.'_

_‘I never, never will, sir,' interposed Oliver._

Will, knowing this part by heart, recited the line with his daddy. Hannibal all but beamed at him, adjusted his scrunched frame on his lap, bringing the hand on his back just a little bit closer. Hannibal kissed him again and continued the story.

_“‘I hope not,” rejoined the old gentleman; “I do not think you ever will. I have been deceived before, in the objects whom I have endeavoured to benefit; but I feel strongly disposed to trust you, nevertheless, and more strongly interested in your behalf than I can well account for, even to myself. The persons on whom I have bestowed my dearest love lie deep in their graves; but, although the happiness and delight of my life lie buried there too, I have not made a coffin of my heart, and sealed it up for ever on my best affections. Deep affliction has only made them stronger; it ought, I think, for it should refine our nature.’”_

The longer his daddy read and the more milk he drank, the more he began to feel his head droop. He slid his thumb into his mouth, sucking contentedly. The room was so warm, his daddy’s chest was so comfortable. Will bet he wouldn’t mind if he closed his eyes for a little while...

So engaged was Hannibal in recounting the tale of Oliver Twist, it took him a minute to realize that his little boy had fallen asleep on his lap, thumb still in his mouth.

Careful not to disturb his young one, Hannibal marked the place he stopped and slowly set the book down. Maintaining his position as Will’s pillow, he grabbed the throw that adorned the back of the couch and wrapped it around the curled-up child. They had around twenty minutes before they needed to leave, and Hannibal planned on spending it smoothing his darling little boy’s hair and memorizing how his slowed breaths expanded and lessened Will’s back.

He was glad he had gotten Will to calm down from his previous panic. Hannibal suspected the half a Valium he put in Will’s milk hadn’t even began to take effect yet. He hoped Will’s other medications did not dull the sedative’s effect- he wanted to ensure his boy would not put up a fuss at the doctor’s office. Will, among other things, was claustrophobic, and would find the small cavity of the MRI suffocating.

When it was time to leave, he roused his little boy with a kiss to his head. “Will,” he called softly, rubbing his back.

The boy groaned in response- he always hated to wake, especially on the occasions his daddy successfully kept nightmares at bay.

Hannibal patted Will’s back, “Will, we have to get dressed and head to the doctor’s.”

The last word startled the boy into wakefulness, sitting up off the older man and looking at him, unease in his expression once again.

“You know this is for your own good, Will. Daddy promises it won’t hurt. Come, we must bundle up. It’s chilly out there.”

Will rubbed his eyes, the edges of the throw in hand. “I feel kinda funny, Daddy.”

“That’s usually how little boys feel when they wake from naps, is it not?” Hannibal joked, hoping Will wouldn’t mind or perhaps even notice the drug use. He quickly changed the subject all the same. “You can sleep in the car. Come, off Daddy’s lap.”

Sluggishly, Will got to his feet and hugged himself, the warmth of Hannibal’s lap leaving him. After folding the blanket, he followed his daddy to the door. His heart started to thud in his chest.

“Do you need to go pee-pee before we leave?” His daddy asked, and Will felt a stirring of his groin at the humiliating word.

“No, daddy, but-” Apprehensively, he watched his daddy tie his dress shoes. “but- I don’t feel well.”

Hannibal chuckled, helping his little one into his sneakers. “That’s why we’re going to the doctor, Will.”

“It isn’t my head, daddy, it’s my tummy,” Will pouted. From his kneeling position, Hannibal reached under Will’s shirt and put his hand on his belly, another hand on his back. He felt for a few seconds before standing up and feeling his heart fast and strong, as suspected.

“You’re a bundle of nerves, little one. Let me get you something for that.” Hannibal strode off to the kitchen, retrieving the other half of the Valium and a small glass of water. Clearly, the first half had not affected him.

“Here, Will, take this,” Hannibal guided the pill into his hand.

Will looked up at him questioningly, in a way that let Hannibal know that Will, as his adult self, was genuinely curious. Pills other than aspirin were almost always avoided, but after their relationship started, the psychiatrist had persuaded Will to start treating his depression and anxiety.

“It’s a little something to help you relax,” Hannibal explained. “It might make you feel sleepy, but that’s it, love.”

Will studied the half a pill in his hand. He could guess where the other half went, but he wasn’t angry with Hannibal, only curious why it hadn’t relieved any of his anxiety. The test was necessary, and Will had a particularly bad case of white coat syndrome in addition to his usual nervous demeanor. Then was the test itself, which took place in a dreadfully small tube.

Will forced the image out of his mind and brought his palm to his mouth, swallowing the pill and a few gulps of water at Hannibal’s insistence.

“That’s a good boy.” His daddy smiled. “Now, we must hurry. Get your jacket from the closet.”  
 The boy obeyed, his daddy returning the glass before helping his little one into each sleeve and zipped it up to his chin.

“Do you want your glasses?” The older man asked, picking them up off the table.

Will nodded eagerly. There would be people he didn’t know there, and an intimidating doctor. He would need all the distance he could get.

“It appears we have everything. Lets head out.” Hannibal didn’t allow Will to stall as he placed a hand to his back, leading him out the door. The car had been idling for a few minutes so the heat would turn on by the time they entered the car. They braced themselves against the bitter winter wind, its sharp force like a slap to the face, a shock to the previous hazy warmth the mansion’s extensive heating system provided.

Once in the Bentley, snow dusting their jackets, they buckled their seat belts. Slush coated the driveway and mushed around the tires as Hannibal backed out. Once on the long stretch of the road, Hannibal saw Will steel his posture against the rigid back of the leather seat, his gloved hand holding onto the handle next to the window controls.

“Breathe, Will,” Hannibal instructed. “It’s a simple test. I’ll be in the other room the whole time.” Seeing no change in his bodily tension, the driver turned on the stereo system, which emitted soft piano music. “It’ll be over an hour until we get there. Rest your eyes, little one, I imagine you will be feeling the effects of the medication soon.”

And, just as Hannibal said this, Will felt a tug of tiredness. Leaning his head against the door, he let the window hum against his skull and the piano carry him down into an uneasy slumber.


	2. Chapter 2

Hannibal turned into the parking lot of the Noble Hill Health Center and found a spot near the door, a Chopin prelude on the sound system coming to a winding, morose close.

He studied the slumped form of his little boy, his glasses skewed and a light coat of sweat glistening on his skin. Had they the time to sit in the car, Will would probably have started to exhibit outward signs of a nightmare. For now, his eyes moving rapidly underneath their lids and his fevered pallor were the only clues. The illness was progressing faster than he had imagined.

“Will, we’re here,” announced Hannibal, gently rousing him. He pet his shoulder, as Will’s eyes opened groggily to the car window his face was pressed against and groaned, grimacing as pain came into focus.

Hannibal was unsure of how Will would act, if he wanted to discontinue their father/boy dynamic for the time they were in public, as they usually did, or if Will was too scared in the present moment to interact with Hannibal in any other way, if he required the comfort and security the relationship fostered. Perhaps the Valium would kick in and Will would find he didn’t care what others thought. Hannibal certainly didn’t, even when it came to Dr. Sutcliffe, a respectable man and neurologist.

Both doctors had always kept their personal lives to themselves, even when they shared a residency at Johns Hopkins. He also knew Dr. Sutcliffe revered his work. Hannibal could explain that age regression was essential to the psychic healing of Will Graham; just as easily, he could acknowledge the intimacy of his relationship with the man who was never formally his patient.

“Will,” Hannibal ushered him into the waking world as his eyes began to droop again. “Come, Will, we must be on time for our appointment. Tardiness is rude, and you know how Daddy feels about being rude.”

Will knew all too well. But the pain of his throbbing head commanded his attention, intensifying with each second; he took off his glasses, put a hand to his forehead, and winced.

Hannibal gave him a look of sympathy. “How bad is it, sweetheart?”

The corners of his eyes stung as water brimmed around them. “Really bad,” he admitted, measuring his breath through gritted teeth.

“Allow me to assist you,” Hannibal said, making his way around the car. He held his hand out and helped Will stand, then guided him up the snow-dusted stairs with a hand to his lover’s back. His feet felt lazy and sluggish- he guessed it was the Valium. Fatigue ached in his muscles, and yet the anxiety was still present, just hindered, as if veiled by a translucent curtain.

They entered the pleasantly warm atmosphere of the heated office building, where Hannibal called the elevator. A light red tint colored Will’s nose and bleary eyes from the bitter cold, contrasting with his otherwise pale skin. By this time, the pain was slowly receding. Will could breathe a bit easier. He shut his eyes tightly, waiting for the rest of the pain to dissipate, and tried to calm his heart, which was thudding harder in his chest as they neared the office.

“Better?” Hannibal asked as they ascended to the fourth floor.

Will nodded minutely, careful not to upset his head.

“We’ll have to discuss these episodes with Dr. Sutcliffe.”

Will lowered his eyes, scanning the elevator floor as he re-applied his glasses.

The elevator soon dinged as they reached the floor. Will followed in Hannibal’s footsteps down the corridor into a waiting room, with several plush chairs, a muted TV, a water machine, and piles of old magazines.

Hannibal talked to the receptionist while Will took a chair, shrugging off his coat. He stared at the water machine, glugging air bubbles.

“Daddy,” Will whispered as Hannibal settled himself in the chair next to him. “I have to go pee-pee.”

“You need Daddy to go with you?” Hannibal reaffirmed with eye contact, which Will matched and nodded.

“Alright, follow me, little one,” the older man lead him to the bathroom and locked the door after both of them were inside.

Will undid his belt and slid his pants and underwear down to his ankles, taking a seat on the toilet while Hannibal leaned against the sink. Little boys don’t standup to pee, and Will was pretty sure his aim would be off.

After a minute of tense silence, Will gave up.

“I can’t do it,” he said.

“You can’t go pee-pee, Will?”

The little boy shook his head, frowning.

“Why is that, sweetheart?” Hannibal asked mildly.

“Maybe I don’t have to go anymore,” Will suggested, but he knew his daddy would not take that answer, especially as a doctor.

“Now, now, William, we know that can’t be true. Are you still nervous?” He questioned.

“I- maybe a little, but it’s okay, Daddy,” he reassured him, getting off the toilet to re-do his pants.

But this only made Hannibal use his stern voice. “William, sit on that potty until you go, do you understand?”

The boy quickly sat his bare bottom down on the potty once again. He wouldn’t dare disobey his daddy when he used his stern voice.

“But I can’t,” he drew out the word in a whine.

Hannibal crouched in front of him. “You can, Will. Little boys have trouble going pee-pee when they’re nervous. But Daddy knows just what to do,” the psychiatrist smiled at him.

Hannibal turned the knob of the sink just enough that a thin stream of water dribbled against the porcelain, making a constant noise that made Will think of peeing. The urge came back, but his body wouldn’t relax enough to relieve his bladder. His feet jittered up and down until his daddy rested his left hand atop his boy’s bare knees.

“It’s alright, Will,” he soothed him in a gentle whisper, reaching his other hand under the boy’s shirt and rubbing circles into his tummy. Will closed his eyes. “Relax your muscles, one at a time. Start with your jaw, then your shoulders,” the psychiatrist watched as his shoulders dropped, “your tummy,” he felt the muscles cave in almost completely, “and now your bladder.”

With the slow rhythm of his daddy’s warm hand on his belly and his soothing voice, the tension drained out of him. The stream splashing into the potty surprised him so much that he tensed again, the stream stuttering, but at his daddy’s encouragement, he relaxed again and soon let his bladder empty.

“That’s a good boy,” praised his daddy as Will wiped himself. He zipped his pants, washed his hands, then followed Hannibal back to the waiting room.

“Dr. Sutcliffe is running a bit late with his last patient, he’ll be with you shortly,” the receptionist informed them, completely oblivious to the fact that two adult men just returned from a single stall bathroom.

There was only one other person in the waiting room, a middle-aged woman in the far corner absorbed in a science magazine. Hannibal then felt comfortable in quietly conversing in their dynamic.

“Will, when we go into the office, Dr. Sutcliffe will ask you some questions about how you’ve been feeling lately and I expect complete honesty from you, is that understood, young man?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Will agreed dolefully, playing with the zipper on his coat.

A flare of pain slowly ignited his head. At first, his eye twitched in pain, but as it spread, he found himself cradling his head in his hands, failing to keep a steady breath. A hand rested on his back, rubbing circles into his coat when they heard a door open.

“I’ll have Nancy contact the pharmacy, send the prescription over, alright?” Dr. Sutcliffe informed the couple leaving his office. His fingers were poised next to his glasses, waiting until he finished speaking to take them off and clean them. It was a habit that had always irked Hannibal, but the mannerism now sparked a handful of memories at their shared residency.

“Doctor Lecter,” the neurologist mouthed coyly. “It’s been a while.”

“It certainly has,” Hannibal smirked, his hand never leaving Will’s back. Dr. Sutcliffe made no motion to indicate he noticed. “American Osteopathic Board Convention, 2010.”

Dr. Sutcliffe shook his head. “As if your preternatural olfactory sense wasn’t enough, you have an extensive long-term memory... You would make a most fascinating study,” he mused.

“I wouldn’t disagree,” Hannibal smirked. 

The doctor turned to Will, who was still staring at the floor, slowing his breath as the pain receded slightly. “And you must be Will. Doctor Lecter’s informed me of the basics of your situation, but I would like to good over the particulars if we may. Right this way,” he lead them down a sterile smelling corridor to an officer where his name was stenciled into the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry about the extensive time between updates of everything. The end of the semester was hell, i'm having psych issues which i can't seem to find a doctor for, and despite trying to write through all of this, it wasn't coming out. i've had this chapter pretty much done for a while, but i'm not too pleased with it. Hopefully it will be better next time. i'm thinking two more chapters of this.

**Author's Note:**

> Of course, the italicized prose was an excerpt from Oliver Twist (actually taken from the goodreads quote section so i'm sorry if the quote itself is wrong.) My headcanon is that OT is one of Will's favourite stories and the quote seemed a perfect fit when describing their relationship!
> 
> More to come, though i can't say when. And for anyone wondering if i'll ever finish A Very Sorry Little Boy, i am, just extremely slowly. i apologize for the wait, college is tearing me apart.)


End file.
